Mourning
by Rikki the Cat-Hearted
Summary: A story about no particular city in no particulat time wel..winter in the 21st century that is.


**A/n: **A story I wrote for English, its a side story for a the main fan-fic I intend to write...

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Mourning

A young man, around the age of 23 years sat in The Smiling Swindler. His ponytail was messy, and unkempt, the black dye fading, a dark brown showing a bit at the roots. His face had the look of not having shaved or even really having been washed in several days. His ice-blue eyes stared at the empty shot-glasses before him in disbelief and misery. Who would have thought Blake, of all people would have been in _that _plane!? He had just HAD to go see his cousin about this job. It would be the opportunity of a life-time! They could live like kings! Probably the one to suggest bringing it down where they did though. Blake'd most likely heard the hijackers talking about where they were headed (the White House, rumor had it). Sounded like him, Mr. Noble and all that crap; Called 'the defender of the slowly trodden upon' in school, But why him? Why not someone else's other half? Why _his_ Blake?

A burst of air awoke him from his frustrated musings. He watched as two teenage boys walk in and take seats on the same side of a booth, in the corner of the room and conversed silently. He could tell they were not of drinking age, as they ordered their drinks, but the barkeep of the medieval tavern-like bar was notorious for identifying, but not restricting the drinking of underage mutants. No-one really knew how he could tell but most assumed he was one himself.

The place did look like a tavern, though. At least, what the man had always imagined a medieval bar and inn to look like. Complete even with hand-made furniture and a hanging sign out front of a grinning thief.

The disheveled man turned back to his shots with a sigh of jealousy. What he wouldn't give to relive those days of young and simple love. The only discrimination they had had to face was from those who disapproved of their 'choice' to be together. It wasn't like you could choose who you fell in love with though. It wasn't like that anymore either, once people had discovered his little talent of making people 'freeze' with a touch and a thought. Then, well, then it was taken to a whole new level, people just refused all decency. That's why he never used it. And no one ever found out.

He stood, emptied his wallet on the bar counter and walked into the October air, which had been oddly snowy this year. People stared at him, as always, mostly at his clothes that consisted of a slightly tattered, coal grey, suit-vest with a silver-grey lining and the matching pants, with hems in shreds from being walked upon; along with old, faded, black running shoes that were starting to fall apart. A few people with their hearts in the right place offered him a coat or a place to stay for a few days every once in a while, but he shrugged them off with excuses of losing his coat or resistance training. The truth, however, was that he just wasn't cold. The same power that let him ice people over without harming them also let him walk in the most frigid conditions without felling the least bit cold. The local soup kitchen that he walked past every day on his way home hadn't tried to force food on him today though, so that was an upside to his day. They must have gotten the hint when he had frisbeed the last bowl back into the vats they served the stuff from, and this had been after at least a month of just handing the stuff to the first hungry-looking person he saw.

After a little while of walking he heard a voice raise above the din of the city around him and a small body push past him. On a slightly drunken instinct he grasped the kid's shirt and pulled them into the crowd crossing the street. Luckily his house was just around the corner and the kid, a boy around the age of 11, had stopped struggling as soon as he had set sight on who had caught his shirt. As he rather roughly led the boy inside his home the man silently berated himself, what had made him do something so rash and stupid?!? Who knew who this kid was; perhaps a pick-pocket and he had just let the kid into his home! It was something Blake would have done.

The merest thought of the other, slightly older, man put a tear in his eye but he held it back as a noticed the boy looking around at his savior's place of residence. The major room of the small apartment consisted of the living and cooking areas (with no dishwasher and no more than 3 cupboards), and two other doors leading to bedroom and bathroom. Both were a bit small as well, with one small closet and just enough room for a small night-stand and the king-sized bed, the bathroom being completely white with a stand-up shower, one toilet, and a sink with a mirror. In the living area there was a desk with a floor lamp next to it and a photo of Kongya and Blake together sitting next to the TV. There was also and old yellow-ish tattered couch. True, it was rather small place and a bit depressing with completely white walls, but it had served him and Blake just fine. Now, however, his companion was gone and he was left try to pay the rent on the salary of a cook at a local restaurant.

Kongya took this chance to look the boy over. He was young and defiantly used to the streets, all of his clothing seemed a few sizes too big, his shirt even more so than that, but he had a nice coat so he couldn't have been too bad off. His face was smudged and a bit bruised but his dark green eyes were bright and held a knowing look to them.

"Why were you running?" the older of the two asked.

"I was being chased," the younger replied cheekily.

"Why?" he persisted.

"Because I am who I am, Igloo."

"Igloo?" the older man asked, voice wavering a bit. How could that boy have known that had been Blake's nick-name for him?

"Cold outside, warm inside, I imagine anyway," the boy mutant grinned "I'm Felix, I can see mutations."

"Alright... Namer, I'm-," the man started.

"I can also tell when people lie."

"-Kongya, Kongya Coldangel. And yes, I did change it when I turned 18."

Felix nodded and looked around again. Kongya staggered a bit before slumping onto the old couch in the center of the room as he was hit with the consequences of his drinking. Felix walked over to the couch and peered down at the other.

"I suppose you would like to sleep that off in your own bed," the boy stated. Kongya glared slightly at him.

"I am not drunk," he protested, and hiccupping.

"Suuure...and the Mafia isn't just an Italian mutant cover-up, I believe you!" Felix stated dryly, and earned himself a dry look from the older man.

"I was being sarcastic, but what I said about the Mafia is true."

"Riiiiight..." Kongya said disbelievingly. The young mutant just shook his head and there was a silence as both didn't really know what to say.

"So why was that guy so intent on catching you?"

"I had to break the news to him about his 5-year-old daughter."

"Destined to share our fate?"

"Correct in one," There was a bit of a silence as neither of them had anything to say but then Kongya spoke up again.

"Will anyone be missing you about now?"

"No one but Trevon, and even then not till tomorrow in the afternoon."

"The Barkeep at the Swindler?"

"The very one."

"And what would have you in his presence so often that he would miss you?"

"Before he knew what he could do, I did it for him. Now I run errands." Kongya stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Very cryptic aren't you?" Felix just grinned and the man continued on his train of thought rather gruffly, "You got a place to sleep out of this cold?"

"Not until now."

"Bold little thing aren't ya?" the kid smiled "Fine." Kongya stood shakily and walked toward his room. Just before closing the door behind him, he called out sleepily.

"You don't seem the thief type. There are blankets on the couch and food in the fridge; we'll talk more in the morning." Felix grinned again and settled down for the night.

-

Kongya, however, was not yet ready to sleep. He lay in his bed, thinking about the day and the kid that was probably sleeping soundly on his couch by now. Blake'd've been proud, pulling a kid from the street into his house. The thought was a sad one and for one more night that week, the man cried himself to sleep.

-

The next morning Kongya woke up fairly early, around eight-ish, feeling rather inspired, even with the hangover from hell. He stood and walked into the main room to find the kid still asleep. He walked over to the fridge and grabbed the last of the fresh eggs and quickly washed a skillet. He had learned to cook when he and Blake had first moved in together, before that he had mostly ate pre-made stuff but the other boy had always wanted to eat in. His cooking however had been…. less than good, so Kongya had learned to cook in a hurry.

The smell of the eggs and toast must've appealed to the boy because he was awake and moving to tidy up his sleeping space within a matter of minutes. The elder man smiled as the younger boy drifted into the kitchen area, in the same shirt and pants he had had on yesterday.

"Smell good?" he asked the kid, who nodded eagerly "Grab a plate off the counter then, this is almost done."

The 11-year-old did so and the both sat down on the two folding chairs in the small dining-area, eating in a companionable silence. The man looked at the younger of the two and asked,

"So where DO you sleep normally?"

"In an ally, under a bridge," Kongya didn't say anything, as if expecting the kid to say more but just shook his head when he didn't. Felix stood, finishing his eggs and walked into the kitchen, setting his plate in the sink.

"Neat too," the elder mutant muttered to himself "Blake, you better be happy with me! It's the one of the most rash thing I've done since you left." As Felix walked back into the living area of the room the older man stood, pausing a moment, and wincing at his own stench before he captured the other's attention.

"Felix," he started "where're ya headed this morning?"

"Here and there, most everywhere really."

"Right, well, I have to go take a shower and head to work"

"Where…?"

"It is called, The Restaurant. I know, original, right?"

"Right" the kid joined the older man in his grin and walked toward the doorway, grabbing his coat on the way.

"I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, sometime." Kongya said, grinning sadly and nodded as the boy walked out.

-

Later that day as Kongya was in his cook's uniform of black chef-like pants and a Navy-blue shirt and finishing his shift when he heard a voice shouting back for him.

"Yo! Kong! There's a kid out here who says he needs to talk to ya!" the man rolled his eyes at his ever-annoying nick-name from his co-workers and finished his last order of the day.

As he walked out of the employee area he wasn't surprised to see Felix standing there grinning.

"I told you."

"Told me what?" the brunette man asked tolerantly.

"That I'd see you around."

"What do you want Namer?" Kongya asked, playfully impatient.

"Ta keep you company."

"Right" he paused then yelled behind him "AUSTIAN! I'm heading out! My slave labor is done for the day!" and with that and a quick farewell to the others the two walked out into the autumn city air. They walked for a little in while in companionable silence before Kongya spoke up.

"So where're we headed?"

"No idea, I was following you…"

"And I, you. Great. So where are we now?" they both looked around before Felix finally grinned and motioned for the older man to follow him.

"We're right near the Swindler."

"We are?"

"Yep," and with that the two mutants set of, Felix leading the way. Once they got back into a comfortable pace Kongya spoke up again.

"So, if you don't mind me asking-"

"My parents are missing," the kid interrupted "no idea where they're at. Just up and disappeared one day. I left as soon as I realized they weren't coming back. I don't get along well with my relatives."

"Well…that was my second question…The first was when did your power emerge?" the elder mutant asked politely.

"Oh." the younger said quickly "That was just after I ran away. Some guy was offering some job and I could just feel the wrongness in his words. The other came later."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear about your parents." Felix shrugged and they walked a bit longer before he spoke up.

"What about you?"

"Home-life or power?"

"Both, either."

"Well, I was raised in a Catholic home, so when my parents found out about my… well…when they found out about me and Blake," a nod told the man that the kid understood just what he meant by that "they weren't too happy. I was 18 in two weeks anyway so I just stayed out of their way and then left…haven't really talked to either of them since." He paused to think, then continued "My power emerged...I think…yeah…I was a junior in high school, and me 'n' Blake had managed to get ourselves in a bad place with a local gang, and they hadn't wanted to talk. That had been an…interesting night. We laughed about it later, how stupid we where." The young boy just nodded and continued walking.

After a while they came upon the place, which was really very hard to miss. It was the only bar in town that looked like a medieval tavern, or inn. Rumor had it that the owner and barkeep, Trevon had owned it since that very era in history, and that he and his family had taken it down board-by-board and rebuild it in the new world. The two cohorts walked in and strait up to the bar, where Trevon smiled at the two, showing off his missing teeth.

"Felix and…Kongya? Didn't think you'd be with him, kid." The old man said.

"I would have said the same thing yesterday, about this time." Kongya replied humorously as they both sat down.

"Hey, Kongya, I know you used to be interested in Artistic Chaos." The middle-aged of the three tilted his head and nodded, wondering why the older man brought the band up.

"Still am, why?" They had toured near their city in years past. Him'n Blake had never had the chance, or finances to go

"Well, I just heard about them coming around these parts and I know Felix here enjoys listing to their music as well…" the younger man raised a brow.

"Well…getting tickets would be my main issue, I'm flat broke."

"But if you could, you would?"

"And take this pert thing with me?" Kongya gazed down at the kid, who had been listing eagerly since the words 'Artistic Chaos' "I would certainly mull it over…"

"Hey, common, Igloo! It'd be fun!" Kongya shook the sad thoughts from his head at that nick-name for himself that Felix seemed to love to remind him of, and protested.

"What did I say, not but three seconds ago?! I'm broke!" the ancient barkeep smiled.

"And if I already have tickets?" the young man ogled at him.

"Do you? Well then _that_ changes _everything_! I still have to pay for food and drinks and everything else!"

"I'll cover it. I owe the kid anyway." Kongya looked at Felix staring at him eagerly and old Trevon staring at him like the old man already knew what he was going to say.

"Fine." He said at last in a voice that sounded quite like he was giving up.

-

So the two of them went; the older broken hearted and still grieving Kongya and the young and poor-off Felix. They had a great time. Kongya managed to put away his grief for a few hours, not push it aside, but just not dwell on it and Felix…Felix got sticky-string all over his head from a few younger kids that where there and had to have it all chopped off.

Kongya kept contact with the young kid, even after Trevon took him in and Kongya moved to another city, they remained exceedingly good friends over the next few years, going to quiet a few more concerts together, creating many happier memories for both of them.

The happiest, for Kongya, however, sit on a desk, in the corner of the room. A photo of two men, arms around each other's waists and posing in front of The Smiling Swindler. Next to it sat a Polaroid of one of the men with black hair in a ponytail that had brown showing at the roots, and a boy with silly string all over his hair and his mismatched clothes.

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And thats it, please review, that the only way I can get any better...


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